


Act II: Loss

by KitiaraM



Series: Kaja Hawke [7]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-18
Updated: 2011-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitiaraM/pseuds/KitiaraM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Takes place near the beginning of Act II, after the Two Hawkes Reloaded series by Defira (Ch. 1: http://fav.me/d3lnud5 )</p>
    </blockquote>





	Act II: Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place near the beginning of Act II, after the Two Hawkes Reloaded series by Defira (Ch. 1: http://fav.me/d3lnud5 )

"Hawke, take it easy... Hawke? _Hawke!_ "

She looked up in surprise, feeling rather dazed. "Huh?"

Varric's warm eyes gazed at her in concern. "He can't tell us where the slavers are if you choke him to death."

Confused, she looked back at where her hands were wrapped around the scruffy street-rat's throat. Under the dirt his face was an unbecoming shade of purple. "Oh. Yeah." She released him, stepping back as the man fell to the ground, gasping out garbled directions as he clutched at his neck. She started forward to help him up and he scrabbled away on his hindquarters as if she were a demon. She swallowed back bile. What had she done? For a moment she had been lost in blackness.

For once her companions were silent as they set off. Fenris was laconic to the point of rudeness at the best of times, but Anders usually couldn't help but needle him, and for Varric to go more than ten minutes without saying anything? Her shoulders stiffened as she imagined their disapproval of her actions like a physical force at her back.

Luckily the snitch's tip proved to be accurate, and the slavers were not minded to give up their goods. She grinned, which should have been warning enough. "Oh, come on. Let your 'cargo' go free, and I'll let you go. Best deal you'll get all year." She eyed the mercenary guards confronting them, who stared back impassively. "No? Oh well, I wasn't really going to let you go anyways." She heard Fenris' growl of agreement as the slave-masters yelled orders. The guards raised their weapons and she and her friends burst into motion.

She couldn't deny her eagerness to dive into the fray. Never did she feel as alive, as free, as when she could forget her worries and regrets, wash them away in the uncomplicated fire of battle. Attack, dodge, slash, parry -- she lost herself willingly in it.

She found herself screaming in sheer exultation as she sliced viciously into her foe. As he fell she sought another target, but there were no more.

"Hawke..." She looked up at the faint, somehow accusing voice. They were staring at her, varying degrees of horrified shock or worry on their faces. She had a sudden image of herself standing triumphantly over her fallen enemy, his blood still dripping from her daggers. No. Not triumphantly -- madly.

She jerked her gaze away, unable to face them. Very deliberately she set about cleaning her daggers and sheathing them carefully. She saw the scattered bodies, blood pooling everywhere, and fought the urge to retch. That last man, he had begged her for mercy, she remembered now; he had dropped his weapons, and she had struck him down regardless.

A deceptive calm settled over her. Without a word she turned away from the carnage, and walked away. By the time she got to the door, she was running. If she heard their calls behind her, she ignored them as she burst out into the night.

*****

As Varric strode purposefully along the docks, a figure separated from the shadows and moved silently to his side. "Thanks, Beni." The dwarf nodded at the elf, tossing him a coin. 'Beni' nodded and jerked his head toward a low doorway covered by a cheap, stained section of sailcloth. Varric didn't watch as his informant disappeared back into the shadows, instead eying the 'door' dubiously. 

Finally he shrugged and pushed his way through. He stopped just inside, trying to see through the dense clouds of smoke in the dim light. The hum of conversation had stopped at his entrance and a warning tingle went up his spine. He pushed his coat back, clearing access to Bianca. Slowly the noise level rose again.

"Hep ya?" He turned at the rough voice to face what must be the proprietor of thisplace. The man flicked a rag at a roach crawling on the bar, which was no more than a plank laid across barrels. Varric wondered that he even bothered, considering the vermin visible everywhere. 

"Could be you might." He made a coin appear between his fingers. "Seen a white-haired woman in here tonight?"

The man scowled, his eyes darting away. Following his gaze, Varric saw a table just a barrel- in the far corner of the room. There was an obvious open space around it, but in the dim light all he could see was a figure leaning over it. 

Without taking his eyes off his quarry, he flipped the coin at the bartender. "Thanks." He wended his way through the rude chairs and barrels serving as tables, wincing at the sticking noises from his boots. He kept one hand ready to grab Bianca, just in case. Stepping over a limp body on the floor, he eyed the slim form slumped over the barrel. A bottle of something was held loosely in one hand.

She didn't look up. "You wan' trouble, keep starin'. Oth'rwise, gedoutta my light."

He winced at her raspy voice. "Is that any way to greet your favorite dwarf?" he asked, striving for a humorous tone.

Her shoulders stiffened imperceptibly. Slowly her head lifted and he had a hard time keeping his expression jovial. Hawke looked terrible; dark circles under bloodshot eyes, hair hanging in dirty strands over her face. He searched for something to say, anything.

"Whaddya want, Varric," she said flatly. She raised a bottle to her lips and took a swig. "'m... busy."

He pursed his lips. "So I see." He toed the man at his feet. "Not the best ambiance, I have to say."

She shrugged. "They bothered me." She upended the bottle, draining it, and slammed it on the barrel. "Dammit. Need 'nother one." She craned her head up, looking for the 'bartender'.

"Ah, there's much better at the Hanged Man, Hawke," he wheedled. "Who knows what they put in the stuff here?" 

She snorted. "Varric, you don' even know wha'sin tha stuff there, either. I foun' a rat tail in my drink one time."

He chuckled. "True, but at least you won't go blind from it." He leaned in to speak quietly. "C'mon, Hawke, you know I hate drinking alone. And I have that bottle of Antivan brandy..." he trailed off invitingly as he raised a conspiratorial eyebrow.

She wavered. "Antivan brandy?" He nodded. "Oh, al'right. She pushed off the barrel to get unsteadily to her feet. "Les' go."

They were almost at the door when he stiffened at the sound of chairs being pushed back. Taking a quick step and turning to put his back in the doorway, he had Bianca out and cocked before even seeing the situation. Several men had risen from their seats, apparently thinking that Hawke was too drunk now to oppose them. As quickly as Varric had moved, despite her condition Hawke was already facing them, arms held loosely at her sides, knees slightly bent. But anyone that thought her relaxed pose signified vulnerability had never seen a cat readying to attack.

"So you want to try again. Didn't learn from your buddies, I see." Any trace of drunkenness was gone from her voice, though it was still raspy. "Go ahead. I've killed more men, women, darkspawn and demons than I can count. What's a few more?"

Varric winced at the cold, emotionless voice. Someone shuffled nervously and in a blink, her right hand was holding a dagger at the foremost man's throat. He swallowed and flesh dimpled under the tip. No one moved for long, tense seconds.

Varric cleared his throat. "Why don't you fellows just sit back down and enjoy your drinks." He freed one hand to dig in a pocket, throwing a small pouch at the proprietor, who was white as a sheet under the dirt. "On me. Beats dying, trust me."

A heartbeat longer, and the men standing moved back slowly. She stood as still as a statue as they backed off. When all were seated again, she sheathed the dagger smoothly and turned to Varric. He almost shivered at her expression, or rather lack of one. He didn't blame the lowlifes for retreating from those ice-chip eyes.

She clapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling in a grim, feral way that made his hackles rise. "Whatcha waitin' on, Varric? Let's go."

*****

By the time they reached the Hanged Man, she had reverted to cranky Hawke. He somehow managed to talk her into taking a bath, tossing a coin at Nora to keep an eye on her and make sure the soused rogue didn't pass out and drown. He watched her disappear down the hall toward the back of the tavern and breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe it would sober her up a bit. 

He made his way back down to the bar. Isabela had been too occupied to notice them as they'd come through. Now he slid into the spot beside her recently vacated by her latest 'student'. "Fleecing the gullible again, Rivaini? I thought they all knew about you by now."

She flashed him a smirk. "Oh Varric, there's one born every minute, you know that." She set the cards aside. "Did you find her?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Some hole down by the docks, where the drinks are even worse than here. She's drunker than an Orlesian templar on Satinalia."

Isabela cocked an eyebrow. "Well. It takes quite a bit to put Hawke in her cups. What the bloody blazes is going on?"

Varric sighed. Keeping his voice low, he answered, "She's been... off, since that blasted name day party." He flicked a glance at the pirate. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Rivaini?"

She took a long drink before replying. "What do you think, Varric? We both saw it: that Garrett fellow had her all in a twist, and then he just, disappears." She hesitated. "I found her down in the Emporium, bawling her eyes out. Over a man." She made a face.

Varric gaped. "Hawke... _cried?_ " He couldn't have been more surprised if Isabela had said that Meredith had opened the doors to the Gallows and sent all the mages on their way with a sack of gold and her blessings. 

While he was still mulling that impossibility, Isabela added, "There was something odd..." She hesitated.

He snorted. "Only one thing?" She huffed and he waved at her to continue.

"She said something very, well, strange. Something about 'two Hawkes'." She gave him a sharp look. "Does that ring any bells?"

He mulled that over. "No. No, can't say that it does." _But it will_ , he vowed to himself. His nose was almost twitching at the story he sensed. 

*****

He spent a little too long with Isabela, fruitlessly hammering at the conundrum; by the time he got to his room, Hawke was already pouring herself a drink. He supposed he ought to be grateful she wasn't sucking it straight out of the bottle. He shuddered at the thought of treating Antivan brandy that way.

She'd piled her armor in an untidy heap near the door and was padding around the room in a robe he kept handy for Anders' use. Even on the lean mage it hung loosely, but it swallowed her; she practically had to wrap it around herself twice.

"Don't you think you've had enough, Hawke?"

She stared at him blankly. "No. I c'n still remember--" she broke off and raised her mug to take a long swig. He winced as she staggered over to the table and slumped bonelessly into a chair. 

He followed slowly, easing into the chair beside her instead of his usual place at the head of the table. "Remember what, Hawke?"

Her gaze returned from whatever unimaginable distance it had been focused on, coming to rest on him, rather blearily. This time he couldn't hide his wince at the look in her eyes. "Damn it, Hawke, talk to me!" Without thinking he reached out to grab her shoulder, whether to shake her or comfort her, he wasn't sure. His jaw almost dropped when she leaned into his grip instead of jerking away. 

Hawke didn't like to be touched; one of her little quirks you either got used to, or paid the price. She would tolerate a familiar touch on the arm, a joking punch, but he had never seen her hug anyone except her mother and her sister, and that not often. So now it was more than a little startling when she laid her head on his shoulder. Gingerly he slid his arm around her, patting awkwardly.

When she didn't respond, he decided to push a little. He was her favorite dwarf, after all; surely she wouldn't gut him for prying. Hopefully. "Is this about that Falconer fellow?" At her sound of confusion, he went on, "Tall, dark-haired warrior type, with a smart mouth. He said his name was Falconer, but I figured that was an alias. Rivaini said you acted like you knew him," he added.

She sat up and chuckled with a hint of bitterness. "Yes, it was an alias." She hesitated. "His name was Hawke. Garrett Hawke."

For a moment he couldn't process it. "Hawke? As in, your name, Hawke? Was he related to you, a cousin or something?"

She was silent for several long seconds. He wished fervently that he could see more of her expression. "He _was_ me. He was 'Hawke' from another world, another Kirkwall."

Varric gaped her, for once totally at a loss. She hadn't seemed that drunk. Her mouth quirked. "I don't blame you; it sounded crazy to me, too."

He found his voice. "Maybe you should start at the beginning."

She hunched over her drink on the table, and told him in between gulps. How a little over a year ago, she had somehow woken up in Garrett's 'world'. Whether it was a dream, or hallucination, or something else, she had apparently shown up out of thin air, with no memory of who she was or where she was from. Some things seemed familiar: places, faces -- she cut her eyes at him. "You were there, and 'Bela, and, well, everyone, but I couldn't remember who you were. Some things were a little different, but looking back now, it was 'my' life, except Garrett was Hawke, not me."

She stopped, staring straight ahead at nothing. "Such a smarmy, arrogant, cocky..." she sighed, but there was a slight smile on her face. "He taught me to dance, and-" she cleared her throat. "Anyways. I woke up the next morning in my own bed, and it had all been just a dream. A very _vivid_ dream, but nothing more." Her gaze came back to him. "Until he showed up here, in my world, and I began to think I had gone insane." She rested her chin on her hands. "Did he seem like a dream, a hallucination to you, Varric? All of you saw him; shit, a whole bar full of people saw him."

His mind had been racing. "It could be some crazy person, Hawke, who fixated on you and made up this insane story--" she was shaking her head.

"What about my 'dream'? How did I already know him? How does everything he remembers match what I remember?"

Varric shook his head helplessly. "How did he get here? He said he was going to show you?"

"It was the mirror, the one in the Emporium. Garrett--" her face twisted "--he said that what the mirror shows is really variations of me, different people that are real, that exist, somewhere. 'Parallel worlds', he said, connected through the Fade, and when the Veil is thin--"

Varric had a sudden flash of inspiration. "Like the pages of a book," he breathed. "Or, no, books on a shelf! Different stories..." His head whirled with possibilities. "All my stories come from asking, 'what if'; what if Donnic was a hard-boiled type, what if-"

"What if Aveline was a raging slut?" she asked drily, diverted momentarily.

He winked. "That was Isabela's idea."

Her humor disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "What if I'd stopped Carver from charging that ogre-" she swallowed hard.

"What if Flemeth hadn't shown up?" he countered, and shook his head. "You can try to take the blame for things all you want, Hawke. But you'll never know if what happened was better or worse than what could have been."

Her shoulders slumped. "I just-- Garrett's life was almost the same as mine. Ostagar, the Blight, Carver, Bethany-" her eyes flashed at some memory and she cursed under her breath.

Varric's thoughts were already racing ahead. "So, how did he find you? Why?"

She looked down at the table, idly tracing rings on its surface. "He remembered me as a dream, too. Only, he found my necklace. How, why there was something of me left behind to find, I don't know. At any rate, by chance he discovered that it focused the mirror on my world, and Garrett being the impulsive, bull-headed man that he is, just--charged through."

He nodded, although it was clear, to him at least, that there was more to it. He waited for her to continue, as she shoved her chair back abruptly to stand and pace. "He didn't stop to think about the possible consequences, or whether I wanted him here or not, he just fucking **did** it."

Varric sat back in his chair and watched her stalk from one end of the room to the other and back. "Sounds awfully romantic to me," he offered quietly.

She whirled to stare at him. "I didn't -- he shouldn't have --" she stammered, before closing her eyes tightly and bowing her head. So softly he had to strain to hear, she almost whispered, "He said he loved me. And I ridiculed him. Accused him of trying to control me, own me. I drove him away."

She grabbed the bottle of brandy from the table and took a large swig, ignoring her mug. Varric didn't even flinch, too caught up in her story. "But, he hasn't come back?" He couldn't imagine the cocky warrior ever giving up on something he wanted. And he had definitely wanted Hawke. He grimaced; he couldn't call them both Hawke; that would get confusing, quickly. As if this whole thing wasn't messed up enough.

She touched a hand to her neck, eyes distant. "I found the necklace, thrown to the floor beside the mirror. He can't -- he won't be coming back."

Varric winced. She must have really pissed the man off. Still, if he was as stubborn as this Hawke... He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Can you go to his world?" Ancestors, he couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth so easily. Apparently he had accepted this crazy idea of 'parallel worlds', magic mirrors--. His thoughts were cut off by her response.

"I tried." Her voice was flat, weary beyond belief. "The mirror needs a focus, something that belongs to the other person. Just wanting isn't enough. And I have, nothing." Her voice almost broke on the last word.

For once Varric found himself unable to think of a thing to say, if he even could have past the lump in his throat. 

She sank back into her chair, slumping onto the table. "He's gone. For good." Her voice slurred on the last words and her head dropped to lie on her folded arms. A moment later a soft snore arose.

Varric sat back in his chair, digesting it all. Finally he sighed and rose to get a blanket, draping it gently over the slumbering form and tucking a pillow under her head. She never stirred; the brandy had done its job well.

As he prepared for bed himself, he considered Hawke. Tomorrow, he knew, she would act as if nothing had happened. She might wear the leather armor of a rogue, but her emotions were encased in steel plate. For her to let her guard down with anyone, even him, even as drunk as she was, showed just how deeply she was hurting. 

And he couldn't do a damned thing about it. That galled; he was used to looking out for his friends, using his influence or coin to prevent problems before they happened. But real life didn't work out like his stories. He paused by the stand where Bianca rested to pat the gleaming wood and metal fondly, his thoughts long ago and far away. No, they didn't, much as one might wish otherwise. He forced the memories away with the ease of long practice and crawled into bed.

Well. Now at least he knew what 'two Hawkes' referred to. Much good it did him; if he wrote this story, he'd be laughed out of the city. Not to mention Hawke would probably slice him up like a joint of meat. He sighed and settled down to sleep. He'd have a hard time keeping this from Isabela. Well, worry about that later.

As he had expected, she was gone by the time he woke in the morning. He put away the pillow, and the blanket she'd left neatly folded, and yelled down the stairs for breakfast. 

Business as usual.


End file.
